


Sam I Will Be

by Lennelle



Series: Sam I Am [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Demonic Possession, Domestic Winchesters, Dubious Consent, Gen, Manipulation, Mental Health Issues, On the Run, Paranoia, Protective Dean Winchester, Psychic Abilities, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sam Has a Dog, Sam Winchester and Mental Health Issues, Shy Sam Winchester, Suicidal Thoughts, Will tag more as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-20 22:36:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9518948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lennelle/pseuds/Lennelle
Summary: The five remaining special children are free, the Winchesters have domesticated and Sam is getting better, but demons walk the earth and a man with yellow eyes is looking for a leader. 'Sam I Am' sequel.





	1. Unexpected Visitors

_March 6_ _th_ _2003_

On the outskirts of a small town in Northern California there was a vast stretch of wood, the edges of which hid an old, abandoned church. The church had been left to nature, roots buried themselves in the graveyard to keep the dead company, vines broke through fragile stained-glass windows and hooked themselves around the rafters, like nooses.

Part of the roof was worn away, right where the altar used to be, letting fire smoke drift upwards and out into the night.

The church had gone to ruin years ago but it was not nature that had pulled apart the pews and stacked them for firewood on the stone floor altar. A young girl, recently of twenty-years-old, was lounging against a pile of velvety red church cushions next to her make-shift camp fire. She was only a little less ragged than the church itself, her boots were battered and muddy, her hair was unkempt and cropped short, but her clothes were layered and practical, mismatched and clearly stolen.

She held a knife in her hand, rested it on her stomach, as she used her other arm to tend to the meal she was cooking over the fire; a rabbit that she'd caught, gutted and skinned by herself.

Ava Wilson had learned to survive long ago.

Once, her survival had relied on conformity, to be the best of the best. However, no matter how hard she had tried, there had always been another who was favoured, even one who had lost his mind trying to keep her safe and she couldn't help but resent him for that. She hated him even more for sending that place up in flames right when she'd finally become the best.

Then, she'd had nowhere to go.

She'd thought about going back home to Florida, to find her mother, to be who she was before, but when she'd gotten a glimpse of her mom unloading groceries like any other day, like Ava had never disappeared, she'd turned tail and run, deciding that things would never be the way they were, that it would be better if she were on her own.

And that's how she'd been since she was eighteen years old, travelling across the country to take down any monster she caught wind of. After all, that was what she'd been trained for. That was what she was good at now. She was a hunter.

She was a _good_ hunter. You see, Ava had certain gifts, and with two years on her own she'd had the opportunity to expand those gifts. She could see the future, even better, she could _choose_ when to see the future. Visions didn't spring up on her anymore, she just had to concentrate and it would come to her. Though, she never had a say in what she saw, but that's what made things interesting. She never knew where she'd end up.

She could do other things, too. Things like summon demons, even control them. It was a skill she kept to herself, a secret weapon. It was because of this skill that she knew she wasn't alone anymore before she'd even looked up, and she knew that her visitor was not human.

"What do you want?" she demanded, raising her eyes to the dark silhouette in the open doorway.

"You're a hard one to find, Miss Wilson," a man's voice answered, ignoring her question. He took steps forward, moving casually, hands in his pockets, footsteps echoing throughout the church. Ava was not stupid enough to admit to herself that she wasn't afraid, but it was hard to erase two years' worth of people forcing her to believe that fear was a weakness. She gripped the knife in her hand tightly.

"Well," she said, "You found me."

The man's eyes were yellow. She'd seen that from the shadows, two bright, fiery eyes peering at her unblinkingly. He stepped into the camp fire's light, revealing a young, handsome face and a dazzling smile that looked like it had been taken from someone else.

"I found you," he agreed. He stopped before the altar, not stepping up onto the stage, even so, down there he still felt so much taller than her. He glanced down at the knife in her hand. "That won't be of any use."

"I know," she admitted, "You're a powerful demon. I can tell."

"You're a clever girl," he praised, mouth stretching wider over his teeth into a Cheshire grin. "But not quite clever enough. The knife won't work because I'm not really here. Not physically, at least."

She frowned for a moment before sighing a little in frustration. She shouldn't have been so slow. She sat up and set her knife down on the ground.

"I'm dreaming," she realised. The yellow-eyed man nodded.

"I thought it would be more private this way," he explained, still not moving a muscle. "After all, even the walls have ears."

Her gaze flitted around the room on instinct, then quickly back to him.

"I know you," she finally said. The man cocked his head to the side, still smiling, and said, "Oh?"

"You're the reason we're like this," she went on, "You made us into monsters."

He grinned even wider, if it was possible. "I didn't make you into anything," he told her, "The goods were already in the bag, I just made sure they _good enough_. I was planting my flag, you could say. So everyone else knows it's not theirs for the taking. Though… some people didn't get the message."

"What do you want?" she repeated her earlier question.

"I want to talk," he said vaguely.

Ava was quickly losing her patience. "About what?" she growled.

"Ava," he said softly, "You're my favourite. I want you to win."

That had her attention. "Win what?" she asked suspiciously.

"There's a little game coming up," he said, clearly choosing his words wisely, "Some old friends of yours will be there and there can only be one winner."

Ava understood. Everything had been life-or-death for her for a long time. She was a survivor.

"And it'll be me," she said surely.

"I don't doubt it," he replied, "I just wanted to give you a heads up. Maybe you can get yourself ready… keep those muscles toned."

She eyed him for a moment, the wide smile and empty yellow eyes. "I assume that my life isn't the only thing I win in this game?" she asked.

Yellow-eyes chuckled. "Smart girl," he muttered. "You'll live, and you'll get the thing that I know you desire the most."

Ava raised an eyebrow. "Which is?" she prompted.

"Power," he purred. "I know you have a hunger for it right down to your bones. It's in your blood, thanks to me."

Ava snorted. "I have power."

The creature blinked at her for the first time and glanced around the crumbling church. "You call this power?"

"I don't need anything," she argued, "Just my mind. I have talent."

"That you do," Yellow-eyes agreed, "But so do four other little hopefuls. Are you better than them?"

"Yes." She didn't miss a beat. The demon narrowed his eyes.

"You don't feel anything for them?" he asked, "The others?"

"That doesn't matter," she snapped, "I doesn't matter what I feel. It never did."

She realised she was standing, towering above Yellow-eyes on the stage with her fists balled up. She forced herself to relax a little.

"Learn to keep that temper in check," he advised.

She finally asked what had been on her mind throughout the entire conversation. "Why are you telling me this?"

Yellow-eyes stopped smiling, pursing his borrowed lips thoughtfully. "Well, like I said. You're my favourite."

She scoffed. "I don't know if I believe that you can have a favourite. Do you even feel anything?"

His eyes glinted. "Do you?" he retorted. She couldn't find an answer. He sighed. "I'll be honest with you. It's in _my_ best interest to have the best of the best. Whether that's you is... up to you."

"This game," she said, "I assume I don't get a say in whether or not I play."

"I'm afraid not."

"Then I'll win."

The Cheshire cat smile came back. "Good for you, kiddo. Keep that fire in your belly. You'll need it."

He turned on his heel, walking with same ease he had entered with. He paused by the door.

"Sweet dreams," he called, "I'll be seeing you."

Ava woke in a cold sweat and a prickle on her skin. The fire had died down to embers and the sun was rising. She packed up and tried to see her future, get a glimpse at this game she was supposed to play, only to find nothing. She grabbed her knife and flipped it in her grip. She was going to be ready. She had work to do.

* * *

_February 28_ _th_ _2003_

The girl who had entered the book store thirteen minutes ago had been sitting on the floor by _Classics_ with a copy of Mary Shelley's _Frankenstein_ for the past four minutes. Sam Winchester had been stacking books on the highest shelf of _Biographies_ when she'd entered, the door jingling her announcement, and had been staring at her ever since like she was something completely foreign.

His arm was aching, still stuck in the action of placing a President's biography on the shelf, his duty was completely neglected in favour of looking at this girl. He barely noticed the box of books slipping from his grip in his other arm.

Sam lived in a small town, he knew just about every person in it, and he knew that this girl was not a local. He also knew that she was beautiful and the long-neglected teenager inside of him was fluttering at the sight of her. Sam had, after all, been cruelly robbed of his awkward teenage years.

He couldn't help but stare at her soft brown curls, knotted loosely at the top of her head, her brilliantly blue eyes that twinkled even when she was looking down, scanning the pages. She was pretty, and Sam couldn't help his heart beating in his chest like it wanted to jump out and say _hello_ to her itself.

He'd been staring, and thinking of a million different ways in which that he could go and speak to her, and then he thought of a million different ways as to how that could go completely wrong. He was far too absorbed in his thoughts, thinking with his 'downstairs brain' as he would have called it if he weren't being so damn pathetic.

"Ehem," the bookshop owner, Eileen who lived down the street, had been watching the whole embarrassing ensemble behind her checkout and she cleared her throat, snatching Sam's attention so harshly that he dropped the book he was holding painfully onto his own head, followed by the box full of them that he just about managed to catch with a joint effort from not only his hands but also his feet. Nevertheless, several books went tumbling onto the carpet.

Sam quickly glanced up to see if the girl had noticed, which she had, of course, and she was trying to stifle a giggle behind the book in her hand. Sam flushed bright red and tried to fumble for the books that were sprawled out over the floor. He was so panicked that his hands shook and he kept dropping them again in his haste.

What was worse was that a smaller hand appeared to help collect them and Sam looked up to come face-to-face with the girl's pitying eyes.

"I'm sorry," she apologised, "Are you okay?"

Sam was stunned into silence; his mouth was moving but there was no sound coming out. _What would Dean do?_ He wondered. First of all, Dean would never have gotten himself into such an awkward situation in the first place.

A cold, wet muzzle nudged at his hand. Clem, who spent her time in the book store behind the counter on an old dog cushion, had heard the commotion and had hurried over to help Sam with whatever bad episode he was having. Only he wasn't having an episode. Not even Clementine could save him from this.

He suddenly noticed that the girl was waiting for an answer and he'd just been staring dumbly at her. In the heat of the moment, Sam ran, clambering into the stock room and wedging himself against the door until the girl went away and hopefully never saw him again.

A minute went by and not even Eileen tried to knock on the door. She was good that way, she knew when to smother and when to give him space. Clem was scratching at the door a little, though, whining at him to come out and show her he was okay. Sam carefully opened the door a fraction to let her in, peeking into the shop as he did. He couldn't see the girl.

Clementine licked his cheek and he scratched behind her ear before daring to go outside. He stepped out, avoiding Eileen's eyes completely.

"I'll… er, finish stacking," he mumbled, trying to step behind a shelf.

"She's gone, Sam," she told him.

Sam groaned. "I scared her away."

Eileen smiled at him sadly. "That's not it, dear. She asked if you were alright."

"I'm fine," he answered quickly, "It's not anything… like that. I just got distracted and I got a shock."

"Girls aren't as scary as you think, dear," Eileen said knowingly.

Sam hummed his disagreement. "I knew a lily and a little bird once and they were plenty to be scared of."

Eileen didn't reply, she didn't understand half of what he said, so she quickly said something else. "Oh, look. She left her purse," she pointed down to the beaded thing on the counter, "If you hurry you can catch up with her."

Sam really hoped the girl had skipped town by now.

"Maybe you should go," he offered, "I'll finish this."

"Not with my hip," Eileen scowled, but there was mischief in her eye, "I couldn't possibly. You would do an old woman a favour? In fact, you can have the rest of the day off."

"But – "

"No _buts_ ," she snapped, "Go give her back her purse like a proper gentleman."

She had already shuffled over to him and was shoving the tiny coin purse into his hand, gently pushing him in the direction of the door. Sam sighed and grabbed his leash from the hook by the door.

"Come on, girl," he called. Clem bounced over, happy to be going out, and he latched the lead onto her collar and headed out the door with the purse held gently in his palm

The street was quiet just after lunchtime and he quickly spotted the girl exiting the bakery down the road with a puzzled look on her face as she rummaged through her rucksack. Clem was already yanking him in that direction, she knew where the local park was, and almost pulled him past the girl if Sam hadn't forced himself to stop.

The girl blinked up at him. "Oh," she exclaimed, "Hello again."

"Um… hi," he mumbled and held out the purse, "You left this in the shop."

She took it gratefully, her fingers brushed his as she did and Sam couldn't help but yank his hand back to keep her from seeing them tremble.

"I'm Rachel," she finally said, smiling.

"Hi, Rachel," Sam answered, then quickly added, "I'm Sam."

"Nice to meet you, Sam," she grinned, then glanced down at the dog, "Who's this?"

"Uh… this is Clem," he half-stuttered, "She's my dog."

"I'd guessed that," Rachel laughed and Sam felt his heart sink into his stomach. Rachel must have noticed too because she quickly said, "I mean, you seem good with her. Close. Er… now I'm being awkward… not that you were being awkward!"

"I was," Sam admitted, he scratched the back of his head nervously when a small silence followed.

"Are you finished work?" Rachel asked, glancing down the street to the book store.

"Yeah," Sam said, and quietly muttered to himself, "Apparently."

"Well, where are you headed now?"

Sam glanced down at Clem who was still tugging in one direction. "I think the park," he said.

"I'll come with you," Rachel beamed, "I mean, I don't really know anyone in this town and I think I'm staying for a while."

Sam's limited social skills prevented him from coming up with a good way to respond so he just nodded and let Clem pull him onwards. Rachel jogged a little to catch up.

"You're not much of a talker, are you?"

"I suppose not," Sam shrugged. It was the talking in his head that was the problem. Not that he'd tell Rachel that. Despite his unintentional rudeness, she seemed oddly interested in him, staring up at him the way he'd stared at her in the book store. He glanced down at her, surprised that she didn't look away. Just smiled.

She had lipstick on, a subtle red, but that seemed to be the only makeup she was wearing. And Sam should have been watching where he was going because he would have tumbled over an old fire hydrant if Rachel hadn't jerked him out of the way.

"Watch it," she warned. Sam quickly locked his eyes ahead, finding himself wishing that she would change her mind and leave. It seemed that he wouldn't be so lucky as she followed him all the way to the park and even sat next to him on the bench when he let Clem off her leash to go bound about the grass.

He glanced again, almost to check if she was still there.

"Why are you still here?" he asked. Her smiled dropped and he quickly fumbled for better words. "Not that I don't want you to be… bee. No, I mean. Why are you here… with me? I'm not. I'm not…"

There were a lot of words for what Sam wasn't so he decided to go with broadest one.

"I'm not good."

Rachel actually smiled. "What, you got some bodies buried in your back yard?"

Sam's eyes widened. "No! No, nothing like…" he drifted off, realising she was only kidding, "Oh."

"What then? Are you a bad boy around town? Not the sort for a good girl like me to get involved with?"

Sam choked a little on the sudden realisation that she was flirting with him.

"What is it then?" she demanded.

"People stay away from me," Sam said quietly, "Because I'm not normal. I'm…"

"A freak?" Rachel supplied. Sam nodded. "Well, good."

Sam was a little surprised by that and he looked back up at her. She smiled softly.

"All the best people are freaks," she said surely, "God forbid you were _normal_."

"I don't think – "

He didn't manage to tell her what he didn't think because she shut him up by pressing her lips to his. Sam tensed up, eyes wide, before he melted into it. This was the second girl he'd ever kissed and he was determined it wouldn't be a disaster like the first.

It was over before he knew it and he was left in a slight daze, mouth still open and completely speechless, yet again.

"I'll be seeing you," she promised. She was walking away before Sam could even process what had happened.

He was still trying to figure it out on the way home and he stumbled into the kitchen with a completely puzzled expression on his face which must have sent Dean's worry up a notch. His brother was waiting at the kitchen table, as he did every time Sam went out on his own.

"What happened?" he asked, already checking Sam over, he frowned at him. "Is that lipstick?"

Sam absently wiped his fingers over his lips, seeing that they came away tinted red. He couldn't help but smile.

"I had a weird day."

Dean was still staring at him like he was crazy, well, _crazier_ than usual. Sam's face was completely overtaken by a grin that was created by the fluttering in his stomach. For the first time in a long time he felt normal. He felt like a freak.

Because all the best people are freaks, apparently.


	2. Imaginary Girlfriend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has trouble with girls. John catches a trail.

_March 6_ _th_ _2003_

There was something far darker inside Lily than her fair complexion and silvery hair would have you believe. She knew death like the back of her hand. The tips of her fingers could stop a person's heart and it would be more than likely that Lily hadn't meant to do it. After all, the streets were crowded places and more than once recently in New York city a pedestrian had dropped dead for seemingly no reason at all.

For such a pretty girl she was awfully sad.

Monsters were lonely creatures, Lily had learned, and she wondered if that was what usually led them stomp on towns or carry pretty women up skyscrapers. If only to receive some attention, even if it was bad.

How long would it be before she did the same?

Lily had to remind herself constantly that it was better to be lonely than it was to be a murderer. She couldn't have intimacy ever again. For these reasons Lily had hidden herself away, under New York. It worked; she was far from anyone she knew, she could keep hidden in the subway tunnels and easily get around through their routes. There were enough places to eat and therefore plenty of places to steal from. And best of all; the constant hustle and bustle of the city upstairs made her feel a little less alone.

She had eaten hotdogs that night, plucked them from a street vendor when they weren't looking. And now she was curled up in a nook underground, wrapped in a blanket a rich woman had given to her, telling her _take care, dear_.

Things worked but she couldn't help but wish to be home. She wished she could be with her parents again, her little brother. But she could never go back. She could never see them again. Not without the risk of killing them.

Thoughts of a better life followed her into sleep.

She was in her back yard. It was bright and green, the grass was soft beneath her feet and the skies were clear above her head. She looked down to the dark purple dress she was wearing, not the kind of party dress her mom would have liked but the kind she saw on the punk girls from her high school.

There were people everywhere; neighbours and relatives mingling over burgers and hot dogs and cold beers. She could see the younger kids splashing about in the pool and it made her wonder where her brother was.

"I'm here," he was standing at her side like he'd been there the whole time. He beamed up at her, floppy blonde curls dipping over his eyes. She reached out and brushed them away.

"Hey," she whispered.

He didn't stop smiling, showing that dorky little gap between his teeth. He was short for his age, and skinny too. The last time she had seen him was when he was only ten years old. He shouldn't look like this, he should look older, he was meant to be fifteen years old. The same age she was when she was taken away.

"I'm glad you're back," he told her.

Lily frowned. "I'm not back."

"Of course you are," he giggled. "How are you here then?"

"I don't know…" she said, but he was already running off, clad in swim shorts that he hadn't been wearing a second ago. He cannonballed into the pool, disappearing without a splash, and Lily felt herself panic a little when the garden seemed to stretch longer, the pool pulling further away. She tried to go after him but someone grabbed her arm.

"Lily," her mother said, turning her around. "Lily, you're my favourite."

Lily tried to yank her arm away, frightened by her mother's stretched out smile.

"Your favourite what?" Lily asked, still peeking over her shoulder in the direction her brother had run. There was no pool anymore.

"You're my favourite," her mother said again. "The best of all of your brothers and sisters."

Lily dared to turn back. Her mother's eyes were yellow.

"Who are you?"

"A friend," her not-mother said simply, pulling her towards the house. Looking around, Lily noticed that all of the guests were gone. She was pushed into an armchair in the lounge, the one her father usually sat in, while the yellow-eyed thing with her mother's face sat on the couch opposite.

"You have some pitiful circumstances, my girl," it said. "You have so much _power_ … but you choose to be a street rat?"

Lily squirmed a little in the chair, feeling completely uncomfortable. "It's safer that way," she said. "No one will get hurt."

The thing barked a laugh. "You're protecting _them_? Humanity?" it asked. "What have they ever done for you?"

Lily thought of the rich woman who gave her the blanket but she didn't answer, too frightened of the yellow eyes that stared at her.

"Lily, you could be so much more," it said.

"I don't want to be _more,_ " she snapped. "I don't want to be like this. I want to be like I was before. Normal."

The thing tutted. "You should know by now that nothing is normal."

"What are you?" Lily demanded. "I know you're something. You're powerful."

"I'm a friend," it repeated its earlier statement.

Lily shook her head. "I doubt that."

The thing sighed, flattening down her mother's skirt as it got to its feet. "Well," it said, "I was only going to do you a favour but I suppose you don't want my help."

Lily couldn't deny that it had her attention and she spoke up before it left the room. "What kind of favour?"

Suddenly, her not-mother was sitting in the armchair next to her. "I can tell you how to get what you want."

"And what do I want?"

"I can take this curse away; you just need to use it a little more first."

Lily was torn. "I don't want to use it," she whispered.

"I know you don't, dear," the thing said sympathetically, but Lily knew it wasn't sincere. "But you have _gifts_. More than you know. You can learn to use them."

"How?" she asked curiously.

"It's in there," the thing gestured to her head. "You just need to find them, then you need to use them."

"What for?"

The thing grinned wider. "There's going to be a game and you're going to play."

"And if I don't want to play?"

"Then you lose… and believe me, you don't want to lose."

Lily understood. Life-or-death, then.

"I suppose there are going to be other players," she prompted.

"Old friends of yours," the thing said. "Siblings, you could say."

Ava, Andy, Jake and Sam.

"No," Lily growled. "Not them. I'm not hurting any of them."

They'd all gotten away. They were supposed to be safe now.

"I'm afraid you don't get much choice in the matter," it said. "It's up to you if you win. The prize is quite extraordinary."

"I'm not interested," Lily crossed her arms over her chest.

"Not interested in seeing your family again?" it pouted. "Pity."

"How do I even know if you're telling me the truth?"

"I'm a creature of my word." It crossed its heart. "And I promise that if you win then I will make sure you see your family again _without_ that pesky problem of yours."

"And I just have to play?" She clarified. "I play then I go home and no one else gets hurt?"

"If you _win,_ " the thing said slowly, "then you get to go home and no one else gets hurt. I promise. You're my favourite, after all."

* * *

_March 2_ _nd_ _2003_

Dean stirred his coffee slowly. He'd poured it out ten minutes ago and he'd been stirring ever since, letting it go cold. His eyes were on Sam.

His little brother had been acting weird. Well, weirder than usual. The kid had come home a couple of days ago with lipstick all over his mouth and shocked expression slapped over his face. Dean had a strong suspicion of what had happened, what he wanted to know was _how?_ Sam didn't seem to be giving up any details.

"So," Dean said, to fill the silence, but mostly to get Sam's attention.

Sam looked up from the slice of toast he'd been carefully buttering. "Huh?"

"It's your birthday in a couple of months," the thought hit Dean just in time. "You want to do anything on your big day?"

Sam looked back down and continued buttering the toast. "What's so special about it?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders.

"Well, you're gonna be 20," Dean pointed out. "That's like official adulthood."

"I don't think it is," Sam replied bluntly.

"Sure it is," Dean brushed Sam's words away with a scoff. "You'll officially be out of your teen years."

Sam shrugged again. "I'm not bothered."

Dean scowled into his mug. Sam was obviously being a moody bitch. Why should Dean bother trying to fix whatever had his brother's panties in a twist. He spared a glance across the table. Sam was still buttering his toast, an expression of mixed confusion and disappointment on his face. Dean sighed.

"Girl trouble?" he asked. Sam looked up again, finally dropping his knife.

"How did you know?" he demanded.

"Dude," Dean smirked, "You really expect me not to know where that lipstick all over your face came from? Why didn't you tell me about it?"

Sam rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, but Dean noticed the ticks he was trying to hide. "It's nothing. I don't even know her. She just turned up in the book store and she wouldn't leave me alone."

"And she kissed you?" Dean prompted, waggling his eyebrows.

Sam's cheeks flushed red. "It was a little… she just did it; you know? I had no idea what was going on. Then she was just gone."

Before Dean could say anything, Sam was on his feet, opening the cupboards to turn the labels on the packets and cans to face the front.

"Sam," Dean got his brother's attention, "Why are you so stressed?"

Sam adjusted a tin of tuna about a centimetre to the right before closing the cupboard. He looked like he was about the take a seat but he ended up pacing back and forth behind it.

"I don't get it," Sam blurted, is fingers were wiggling a little, like he was counting, "She didn't make any sense to me. There was no… routine. It was just all surprising. I don't get her. And then she disappears? I haven't seen her since; I try to find her when I'm walking Clem but she isn't there. I'm starting to wonder… what if she was never there?"

"What?" Dean was a little taken aback.

"I mean," Sam paused. He was all tense, fingers working, one hand made it up to the side of his head, where Dean knew a surgical scar was hidden underneath that mop of hair. Sam clenched at the strands. "What if," he went on, taking a strained breath, "I made her up? Like Faceless."

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat. "You haven't seen him in months, Sam."

"I know," Sam sounded close to yelling, like he did when he was particularly stressed, "But what if I made up someone else. How come she just disappeared?"

Dean got to his feet, rounding the table and he gently pulled Sam's hand back to his side. "Sammy, calm down," he said, smiling, "I saw the lipstick, I'm pretty sure she was real."

"Then why did she like me?" Sam blurted. He froze a little. Obviously, he hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"Why wouldn't she?" Dean countered. "I mean, sure, she didn't go for the better Winchester brother, but the one she did go for isn't too bad."

He squeezed Sam's shoulder. Sam avoided his eye.

"Is there a reason you're doubting yourself so much?" Dean asked. "You know, if something isn't right in that brain of yours you have to tell me or dad?

"I know," Sam assured him. "Everything's fine. Except…"

"Except for this mysterious girl," Dean finished. "Hey, how about next time you see her I come with you? That way someone can tell you if she's really there."

Sam nodded, still staring at the ground. "If we can find her."

Dean shrugged casually. "She'll be around. But if she skipped town on you then she must be insane."

"We would have made a great couple," Sam remarked with a small smile, earning a small chuckle out of Dean. He kept his hand on Sam's shoulder for a moment longer before stepping away.

"I gotta get to work," he said. "I'll meet you on my lunch break and we can go on a girl hunt."

Sam scoffed. "A girl hunt?" he repeated, eyebrow raised.

Dean slung his work bag over his shoulder and shrugged. "Well, it's been a while since we left the life. About time we got back into it?" he joked, winking. Sam punched him lightly in the arm.

"You're such a loser," he said.

"Takes one to know one," Dean snapped back playfully, heading to the door. He stopped halfway out. "I'll call you at lunch. Don't think too much."

And he shut the door behind him, trying to push down the worry that was telling him that Sam might be right.

* * *

Sam spent his day waiting. He only had to go to the book store on weekends and he was on study-leave from school in preparation for his final exams. He should be studying but it was hard to take in any of the words in his textbooks when his mind was having a dozen different thoughts at once.

He tried to occupy himself by organising the kitchen cupboards, again. Then arranging the bathroom cabinet by bottle size, then colour. He sat on the edge of his bath, wondering if he ought to rearrange the bottles into size order again, when the phone rang.

Sam grabbed it off the hook. "Hello?" he answered, already heading back to the bathroom to decide how to organise the cabinet. Clementine trotted after him and sat at his feet as he took all the bottles back out.

"Hey, Sammy!" Dean greeted on the other end. "So I just got off work and I've got an hour and half before my shift starts at the grocery store. What do you say we look for this girl of yours?"

"Rachel," Sam corrected, deciding on size order, he began putting the bottles back in place.

"Rachel," Dean said the name slowly. "So, what do you say?"

"I say okay."

"Cool. Are you at home?"

"Mm-hmm," Sam wished Dean would be quiet for a moment so he could concentrate.

"I'll swing by to get you and that furry sidekick of yours," Dean went on. "Oh, Dad called. He said he'd be home tonight."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Sure."

"He will," Dean insisted, sighing audibly. "I'm on my way. See ya."

Sam hung up without a word. He wanted to get back to working on the cabinet. He stopped when his fingers wrapped around a bottle of sleeping pills. He'd been prescribed them a while ago but he'd stopped taking them in favour of some that weren't as strong. Sam rattled them in his hand.

_You could just take the whole bottle._

The thought popped out of nowhere. Sam gripped the bottle tighter, closing his eyes, it was hard to ignore a thought like this. They liked to cling to his brain, it seemed.

 _It would be that easy_.

It _would_ be that easy, Sam knew, but he didn't want to do it. That wasn't what this was. He'd not seen Faceless in a long time, he hadn't wanted to hurt himself in a long time, but there was still a part of his mind that liked to wonder just how far it could go. Once, he had been working on a project for school with one of the girls in his class. She was a little older than him and she had a little boy, she was coming back to finish her high school diploma, just like him. She was cutting and Sam was gluing, as he'd insisted. For a split second she'd put the scissors down to look for something in her bag and Sam had imagined himself picking them up and slicing off her ponytail.

He hadn't done it.

He had forced himself to grip the scissors for five seconds before putting them back. It was a trick his therapist had taught him for whenever he had the urge to do something he didn't want to do. Prove to himself that he could say no.

The point was, Sam had bits of himself that he didn't feel he had control of. No matter how much he'd improved over the past two years he was still struggling.

Sam closed his eyes again and counted to five before placing the bottle of pills back onto the shelf. He closed the cabinet door and smiled at his reflection in the mirror. Clem was wagging her tail with what Sam decided was approval. He bent down and rubbed her back, she licked his cheek.

He got to his feet when he heard the front door open and walked into the hallway to find Dean dumping dirty overalls onto the back of a kitchen chair.

"Hey," Dean said when he noticed him. "Want to get some food and look for your girlfriend."

"First of all, she isn't my girlfriend and she might not even be real," Sam pointed out. "Secondly, I'm starving. Let's go."

Dean opened the door wide, allowing Sam to go first, tossing him the leash as Clem followed behind. Sam latched it onto her collar and they headed down the road towards the main street.

"Anything else you want to tell me about your mystery girl?" Dean asked, nudging him in the shoulder.

Sam sighed. "Dean, I didn't want to tell you because I wasn't sure if it had really happened. I was scared, okay?"

"We're going to prove you wrong," Dean said surely, though Sam could _feel_ that Dean's words weren't completely sincere.

"You know you can't lie to me," he pointed out.

Dean blinked at him. "What…" he started to say but he paused and realisation dawned on his face. "But I thought you were managing the empathy thing."

"I am," Sam promised. "But it's harder when I'm nervous."

Dean's nose twitched a little and Sam wondered just how much the psychic abilities freaked him out. "Okay," Dean finally said. "But you haven't had any visions?"

"No visions," Sam assured. "Not since…"

_Not since I thought I watched you die every night._

Sam didn't like to think about that night at the Institution. The last time he saw Ava, Andy, Jake and Lily. The night Jake had slashed Dean's side. The night Sam had gotten his revenge. He still dreamed about what he did to them, he regretted it every day. Now, he knew he was going to Hell.

"Well, that's good," Dean said happily, he stopped outside the deli. "You stay out here with the mutt and I'll get some food. The usual?"

Sam nodded and watched him disappear inside, joining the long queue. Sam leaned against the brick wall of the building, fiddling with the lead as Clem parked herself dutifully at his side, scanning everyone who walked by.

Some people waved at him or said _hello_ to him as they passed, mostly out of pity or curtesy, Sam thought, since they all knew he wasn't quite right in the head. He nodded back now and then but mostly kept quiet, thinking about what he might say to Rachel if he saw her again.

_How about 'hello'?_

_Or you could ask her where she's from, what she's doing, how she is?_

_Or you could ask if someone asked her to kiss you as a joke. That's probably why it happened. Why would anyone want to kiss you? You're a freak and a murderer._

"Shut up," Sam mumbled quietly.

"What?" a soft voice came from his right and Sam recognised it straight away. He hopped away from the wall a little, coming face-to-face with Rachel. She was frowning at him, looking a little concerned.

"Huh?" Sam couldn't find any words.

"I think you were talking to yourself," she said, a gentle smile spreading across her face when Sam blanched. "Don't worry. I talk to myself all the time. Not in an I-hear-voices kind of way, though. I'm not a nut-job."

She chuckled nervously before looking up at him like she was waiting for him to speak. Sam couldn't get a word out. He could only stare, like he'd done in the book store the other day. He'd been so unsure if their encounter had even happened but here she was; looking very much real.

She had to be real.

Sam glanced into the deli, desperate to find Dean, who was finally at the front of the line.

"Sam?" Rachel called him back to her. "Are you okay?"

Sam just nodded.

"You look a little freaked," she said slowly, then bit her lip. "It's me, isn't it? I came on too strong. I do that sometimes, sorry. It's just that I actually like you. And maybe that's weird because I met you two days ago but I think you're cute… oh God. I'm rambling…"

Sam still couldn't get a word out but his mouth was opening and closing like a freaking fish. His heart leapt when Dean stepped out of the store and caught his eye. He looked between Sam and Rachel, a huge grin making its way onto his face.

"Who's your friend, Sammy?" he asked, moving over to stand at Sam's side.

When Sam didn't answer, Rachel did, shaking Dean's hand.

"Rachel, huh?" Dean said smugly, relief coming off him in waves. Sam wasn't sure he felt the same way, he was beginning to wonder if it would be easier if she was just a figment of his imagination. He knew how to deal with voices in his head better than real people. At least, he thought he did.

When it was obvious that Sam wasn't going to say anything Rachel began asking Dean questions. Normal things like where he worked and how long they'd lived in town. Sam gripped Clem's leash tighter when she tried to move toward Rachel, nose twitching as she sniffed the air, ears perked up. He pulled her a little in the opposite direction.

"Sorrywehavetogo," he mumbled in one word, already heading back towards home. Dean frowned but quickly apologised to Rachel and bid her farewell before jogging to catch up with Sam.

"What is with you?" Dean demanded.

Sam shook his head jerkily. "I can't… not right. I-I, I don't," he forced out between heavy breaths. He hadn't noticed that he'd picked up into a run.

"Sam?" Dean called, hurrying after him. Clem bounded ahead, pulling Sam along, seeming like she was pleased as punch to go running. Sam made it to their front door and fumbled with his key, ignoring Dean once he'd caught up, and pushing into the house. He dropped the leash and hurried to his room, shutting the door behind himself before shuffling under the bed.

He watched the door open and Clem and Dean's feet walked in.

"Sam, talk to me," Dean begged. "I don't know what's going on."

Sam didn't answer, just curled up as small as he could. After a moment, Dean sighed and left the room, closing the door on his way out.

Sam tried hard not to think about the bottle in the cupboard. He tried hard not to think about how rotten he was to his core. He tried not to think about how selfish he'd been by even considering to pursue Rachel and infect her with every black tarry thing he had had inside of him. How could he have even thought about holding her hands with the same hands that had murdered people?

He tried hard not to think about a lot of things for several hours before he finally fell asleep, not long before John Winchester's truck pulled into the driveway.

* * *

Dean watched his father take a long swig of whiskey, downing the entire of the glass' contents. Neither of them had said a word but he suspected that he wasn't the only one trying to process what John had just said.

He cleared his throat. "You're sure?"

John just nodded, staring into the empty glass.

Dean glanced over to Sam's bedroom door at the end of the hall then back to his father. "What about Sam?"

John sighed tiredly. "I don't know."

Dean bit the inside of his cheek and clenched his fists, trying hard to push his anger down. "Dad, you told us that you were just helping out on a hunt. How could you have come across this information? Did you go looking for answers? Was that what you were really doing? Because I'd thought we'd left this behind."

"We did," John insisted. "And I was just helping on a hunt. But I've asked people to keep their eyes and ears open, just in case, and I got a call. Some of them are still out there."

"Are they coming for him?" Dean nodded towards Sam's bedroom door.

"I don't know," John said. "It doesn't seem like it though. To me, it seems like the ones that are left are running."

"From what?"

"I don't know," John said again. Dean groaned.

"I'm getting sick of your need-to-know crap," he hissed. "You owe us the truth, especially Sam."

John glared at him. "I can't be sure of anything. I'm not telling him anything that I don't know for sure."

"But you know for sure that the bastards that messed him up aren't all gone," Dean growled. "And now you know where one of them is and you're going for information."

"I need to know why," John barked, but he quickly lowered his voice. "And I need to know exactly what happened because Sam will never tell us. You know that."

Dean clenched his teeth as he thought. As angry as he was he understood why his dad needed to find answers, so did Dean. He needed to know exactly what had happened to Sam, even if he didn't want to. He uncrossed his arms and took a seat opposite.

"Where are they?" he asked.

John blinked at him, surprised. "About five hours out," he told him. "I could be done in under two days."

Dean nodded. "I think you should go," he decided, he held up a hand before John could say anything more. "But I think I should go with you."

"I can handle it on my own," John said.

"I know. But I don't trust you to tell me what you find."

A few years ago, Dean would never have spoken to his father this way. John would have never allowed him to. Things were different now.

"What about Sam?" John pointed out. "He can't stay here by himself."

"We know plenty of people who can be trusted with him. Call someone in to watch out for him."

John nodded. "Okay, then."


End file.
